


Emotion Sickness

by lizardkid



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Destiny 2, M/M, Memory Loss, Mute Guardian, Nameless Guardian, Neurodivergent Exos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 21:45:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16049186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardkid/pseuds/lizardkid
Summary: A non-linear study of what it takes to love Cayde-6 - and what it gives.





	Emotion Sickness

It takes approximately five seconds – the time it takes for Cayde-6 to take his hand, look him in the eye, and ask, “Do you trust me?” – for the Guardian to feel the tendrils of affection take root deep in his metal approximation of a heart.

Once he has replied in the affirmative, it takes approximately nine seconds – the time it takes for Cayde-6’s cyber-blue eyes to light up with wild lunacy, jump off the sheer cliff face, and drag the Guardian with him as he hurtles toward certain death – for those tendrils to uproot themselves and shrivel into a guttural scream.

*

“—With no warning, no nothing! It’s a miracle you’re both still alive!” Zavala is roaring, panic and fear dialling his anger up to a white, hot rage that makes his luminescent-blue eyes look like twin balls of flaming ethanol. Despite refencing their collective safety, Zavala has barely spared the Guardian a glance since he and Cayde crashed into the hull of the _Authority_ , their sharp, metallic thud no doubt signifying substantial damage to the hull (and, more importantly, to their feeble bodies).

“Aw, come on, Zavala,” Cayde starts to reply, nonchalant but taking steps backwards, “If you’re that upset about the ship, I’m sure our Guardian here will happily pay for—”

“CAYDE!”

The fist that slams into the wall inches from Cayde’s protruding horn manages to make both Exos jump, and Zavala briefly shoots the Guardian a glance. Upon seeing him staring at the floor, knees tucked tightly against his chest, Zavala sighs and let’s his hand drop to his side again, curled into a fist he likely won’t throw in Cayde’s direction but is comforted by the mere suggestion of doing so.

Cayde’s arms are in the air, trying to calm Zavala down but likely having the opposite effect. “Whoa, whoa! Cool it, big guy!”

“Cayde,” Zavala says again, through clenched teeth but more of a subdued spark of electricity than a crack of lightning this time. Even from where he’s sitting, metres from the hurricane and its eye, the Guardian can see the pain in Zavala’s face, the heavy line of his brow dipped in concern, the veins that disappear into the neckline of his bulky armour tense and protruding. The Guardian can practically feel the adrenaline bouncing off the low walls of the cockpit, sucking the oxygen into itself and making it hard to breathe.

The Guardian feels nauseous. Whether it’s from an injury, anger, or the stress of the situation, he can’t tell – but it settles heavily in his stomach and his Ghost buzzes anxiously around him, looking between him and the Vanguards. In his experience, close calls like this tend to make his Ghost talk incessantly in his ear, holding the Guardian close with their words in lieu of holding him tightly in a pair of arms. Right now, they are blissfully silent.

Something must have passed silently between the Vanguards because when he looks up again, Zavala is moving toward him and Cayde is looking around aimlessly, trying to focus on something as he absently rubs the back of his neck. At least he has the decency to look a guilty for a moment, even if it’s gone almost as soon as it appears.

He’s vaguely aware that Zavala is talking to him, that his Ghost is speaking, too, that his head has begun to hurt in a vague, overwhelming way – but Cayde’s face freezing with fear is the last thing he manages to focus on before he blacks out.

*

The Guardian dreams about the first time he met Cayde.

Most things are the same. The sloping grey stairs that lead into the Hall of Guardians. The tall, colourful strips of flag that hang around the otherwise monotone pit in the centre. The blue-grey sky visible beyond the striated window panes. Zavala’s stern, heavy brow. Ikora’s raised eyebrow. The fear that grips the Guardian the moment he walks in.

But Cayde – Cayde is not the same. And now that he looks closer, nor is the sky.

When the hunter Vanguard turns at last to look at him, fixing him with impassive and disinterested eyes, the world seems to warp around them. He realises the sky burns the same luminous blue, and he struggles to breathe. That’s new, too.

People are talking. Too many people are talking. Cayde is not.

The Guardian opens his mouth. He needs Cayde to speak to him, to say something, to break the vacuum of silence that stretches between them, untainted by the ruckus from everywhere else.

The Guardian cannot speak. The harder he tries, the more it hurts. There are no words anymore, no link between his mind and the physical world. He waits for the inevitable, and when Cayde looks away from him, the dream collapses.

*

The next dream is more like it. Cayde is laughing in this one. It’s blindingly loud and joyous, and the Guardian feels himself smiling along. It’s contagious.

The Exo appears, a vessel for the laughter. The recipient of it is unseen, but it isn't for him. This isn't his joy.

When he wonders what could be so funny, it becomes clear. The laughter pins him in place, etherised and mounted upon a wall. Cayde is laughing at him, he realises.

The Guardian’s joy recedes, and the dream collapses.

Expands – into blinding light.

*

Wakefulness buoys him up, and he takes a deep breath, opens his eyes.

“Oh, fuck! Thank _fuck_!” Cayde yells, and the first thing the Guardian sees is irritation flickering in Ikora’s eyes as she examines him closely. Hay juts firmly against his solid form, and he vaguely comprehends that he is back on The Farm.

“For once in your life, be quiet,” she responds, voice calm – though the Guardian can see her expression.

 _Cayde_ is what he tries to say aloud, but all that comes out is wheezing cough, and Ikora turns away from him, gesturing at something out of view. The Guardian turns to his left, following her gaze, and finds Cayde’s face inches from his own. “Hey,” he says, quieter than the Guardian had expected, but still too loud. His grimace is telling and Ikora places a hand on Cayde’s shoulder to guide him away. The Guardian reacts before she can drag him out of his reach. It happens before the Guardian even wills it to, before he realises exactly what it is he’s willed his body to do.

When the hand clamps like a vice around Cayde’s neck, the hunter lets out a muffled shriek. A soft, shocked gasp from Ikora indicates that she had not expected it either, but Zavala’s deep chuckle from the other side of the room indicates that he, perhaps, had.

The Guardian squeezes harder, still not enough to do any serious damage in his diminished state of strength, and attempts to bring Cayde closer to his face, determined for Cayde to look into his eyes and see how serious he is. How much he hates him. How angry he his. How not okay with Cayde’s actions he is.

Cayde refuses to look him in the eye, and soon his own hands appear to disengage the chokehold, and Ikora steps in. “Alright,” she says, though she sounds disappointed that she has to put a stop to it.

The Guardian lets go suddenly, and Cayde stumbles back dramatically.

It might have been a residual reaction from the dreams, but he still thinks it’s justified. All things considered.

“What did I tell you?” Cayde says as he rubs his throat defensively, glaring at everything in the room except the Guardian. “Completely fine,” he finishes, and exits the decrepit building in a flurry of indignation and billowing cape.

The Guardian ignores the look that Zavala and Ikora share.

His Ghost floats closer to him, tentatively, but the Guardian nods his consent and they tuck their shell into the nook between the Guardian’s neck and the pillow of hay. ‘ _Are you okay?’_ his Ghost asks. Then, when there’s no response, ‘ _I thought I’d lost you._ ’

The Guardian heaves a shaky sigh and curls closer to his friend.

*

The truth is, social cues are confusing for an Exo. It only gets more jumbled the more times an Exo’s memory is reset. Cayde is on his sixth reset, which either means his social skills had not been as badly affected as others' had, or he is incredibly adept at hiding it.

The Guardian does not know how many times his memory had been reset before he had died. His muteness could be a result of too many resets, or it could not. There is no way of knowing, and the Guardian does not feel the echoes of his past as strongly as the other Exos do – or at all, in fact. There is just deafening silence where his memories ought to be. Emptiness.

“Boo,” says Cayde from behind him, and the Guardian hardly reacts except to look up at his Ghost, who had jumped in fright on his behalf. The Guardian stands, bends a knee to take a step forward, and teleports to the opposite side of the room. He sits on the hay bale in one smooth motion, and raises an eyebrow at Cayde, who is still frozen in same pose as he was a moment ago: arms raised, fingers splayed, hunched around an empty, Guardian-sized space. The Guardian has to stop himself from smiling. His ghost laughs for him, a sweet, quiet giggle. Cayde redirects his glower to the Ghost for just a moment before it returns to the Guardian. “Warlocks, honestly,” he grumbles as he relaxes his arms and slumps down onto a hay bale of his own, one knee pulled up to his chest and the other dangling over the edge. “Bunch a’ show-offs.”

The world is still and quiet as they watch each other. Chickens potter and peck, clucking softly, and a light rain hits the roof, barely audible. The Guardian’s gaze drifts to the birds, and Cayde follows suit.

It’s often like this. The Guardian doesn’t know what it means, but it’s more or less routine. Cayde is not usually so quiet, but the Guardian suspects he feels bad, and isn’t sure how to approach it. The Guardian is not sure how to receive it, either.

They’re friends, he supposes, but if he found out tomorrow that Cayde had hated him all this time, had only spent time with him at Ikora’s insistence, he’d believe it. It’s obvious that she worries about him – Zavala, too, though his concern is more distant – and she probably thinks he needs someone to talk to, someone to connect with. Someone to coax his voice back.

Well, if she thought that was possible, then she'd been wrong, and if she thought Cayde could be the one to do it, she'd been even more wrong.

The Guardian begins to watch Cayde out of the corner of his eye when the idiot starts cooing at one of the chickens, clambering down from his hay bale to get closer to it. The chicken is even less impressed than the Guardian’s Ghost, and lurches quickly away from him. “Colonel. What gives?” he mutters. “I thought we were friends.” Cayde reaches to grab the chicken once more and straightens with a huff when Colonel only squawks in distress.

Cayde is closer to the Guardian than he had been before. His hands come to rest on his hips, and he turns to look at the warlock. “Can you believe this?” he asks, but the Guardian doesn’t take the bait.

His ghost responds, bored, in unison with Cayde’s ghost. “ _Yes_ ,” they both say, then blink in bemusement at one another.

Cayde ignores them and moves to sit next to the Guardian.

When his ass hits the hay, the Guardian has already teleported to entrance of the building, lowering himself onto an overturned bucket and startling a few chickens. “Alright,” Cayde says. “We’ll do this your way.” The hunter appears out of thin air, leaning nonchalantly against the door frame. Simultaneously, the Guardian teleports into the rafters and peers down at Cayde expectantly. 

Cayde joins him, blinking out of and then into existence beside him.

The Guardian is about to smile again when he realises with a sickening jolt that Cayde, in his haste, has misjudged the jump, and is already falling through the air, having missed the beam by mere centimetres. Reflexively, the Guardian’s hand shoots out to grab Cayde’s hand, and Cayde's weight pulls him off the rafter, too.

The sensation of falling is intimately familiar, and nausea pulsates in his stomach at the memory, but this time there is no impact.

He and Cayde blink back into existence on the ground, and it takes the Guardian a few moments to return to his senses.

“Guess we’re even now,” Cayde says with a groan, voice muffled because the Guardian is - Ah. On top of him. Cayde’s arms are wrapped around him protectively, his chin tucked against the Guardian's neck. The tendrils of affection he had disavowed time and time again worm their way back under his skin and into his chest. The Guardian springs to his feet with alarm before he can process the solid, comforting span of Cayde’s chest, or the sound of soft Cayde’s modulated, robotic voice in his ear too carefully.

Cayde props himself up dazedly, legs spread where they’d landed, and his hands splayed out behind him. When he meets the Guardian’s eye, the Guardian shakes his head. His hands, palm-down, cut a stern line from his chest outwards – not – then he makes the same gesture slightly higher, nearer to his chin, and with a slight downward curve – equal.

“It’s not the same,” his Ghost translates, partly just to piss Cayde off, who already knows enough Standardised Sign Language to translate it for himself.

“I know it’s—Come on, G, I’m just—”

Cayde sighs at having to abort his sentence twice and flops back onto the ground, throwing his arms out to the sides and staring despondently at the roof. As usual, the Guardian cannot tell how annoyed Cayde is. Probably not at all. Probably he just wants sympathy. In any case, he isn’t the one who deserves to be annoyed.

The hens that have begun to gather around Cayde part when the Guardian lowers himself in one, fluid motion to sit cross-legged next to Cayde. The Guardian doesn’t look at him, just picks absently at a loose thread on his trousers.

Cayde is looking at him, though. Intently. The Guardian tries not to let it get under his skin.

“I’m sorry, okay? Really. Really, _actually_ sorry.”

‘ _I suppose he does look really, actually sorry,_ ’ his Ghost says in his head, and sounds disgruntled to have to admit so.

The Guardian supposes he is overreacting a little. Cayde saved his life, and he hadn’t known it would affect him so badly.

“I guess,” Cayde says, apparently to one of the hens who is scratching around close to his face, “I really clucked this up, huh?”

‘I’ll cluck him up,’ his Ghost mutters in his ear, and the Guardian cannot help but laugh. It reverberates from his voice box in a series of robotic chuckles, coloured with humour despite the slight crackle of distortion.

Judging from the way Cayde bolts upright with shock, the Guardian suspects this is the first time he has heard him laugh. “What is that?” he demands, staring in bewilderment at the Guardian now that they are eye-to-eye. “I didn’t know you could do that!” he continues. Indignation makes him frown, but it doesn’t last long.

Still laughing, the Guardian points to himself – I –, places his left hand palm-up in the air and brushes the fingertips of his right hand across the open palm, toward Cayde – forgive –, and then points to Cayde.

Cayde’s eyes shift into twin blue crescents as he beams at the Guardian in response.

**Author's Note:**

> I was sure there were some things I needed to put in these notes and now I've totally forgotten. Hm.
> 
> I don't know how long this will be, as usual, but I'm excited for it. Also, I hope it's not too confusing - I jumped around a little bit but hopefully things will become clearer the more I write.
> 
> Edit: OH YEAH LOL. Apologies for likely butchering sign language in this... I've kind of combined ASL and BSL into SSL because a) the resources on the internet aren't that extensive and b) it's the future, so it's probably changed, and G is probably editing and simplifying it for Cayde. If you have any suggestions, feel free to make them.
> 
> Edit 2: this is not really proofread that well, so if you see anything that makes sense, or something I haven't really explained... feel free to point that out, too.


End file.
